


Breathe Easy

by unrivaled_tapestry



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: BDSM, BDSM Scene, Breathplay, Flogging, Humiliation, M/M, NSFW, Punishment, dombert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 00:50:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23003110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrivaled_tapestry/pseuds/unrivaled_tapestry
Summary: Occasionally, Hubert's work carries him into a fever pitch. The pressure draws so tight, it seems like he's ready to snap in two. Ferdinand knows just what to do. NSFW. 18+.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 16
Kudos: 204





	Breathe Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Immense thank you to [GoldenThreads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenThreads/) who is the hero that beta'd this and called out every expression I tried to slide by without describing. <.<
> 
> Please check the tags! While I tried to keep it as safe as possible in this fic, I feel the need to include a gentle "do not try this at home"/if you're interested in BDSM please consult a community or educators dedicated to that.
> 
> Enjoy, Ferdibert comm!

Ferdinand polished the silver mirror in his room with a stray cloth, lightly chewing on his lip as he did so. When that was finished, he washed the oil from his hands and wrapped his fingers around the cherry hairbrush, which rested to the side of the vanity. With fluid strokes, he ran the teeth through the knots of his hair and watched as it smoothed out, gained more body and volume.

The brush was a gift from Dorothea, mercifully given to him when his hair grew long by—partial—accident. He cherished it, truly, and it was part of his routine on nights like this one. Nights when he had no other obligations, and when Hubert's work wound him as tight as a cord of piano wire, ready to snap in the middle of his fever pitch.

Nervous wasn't the right word, but Ferdinand's own anticipation filled him like the highest note of a song. He never quite knew what to expect.

Early on in their relationship, Hubert adamantly rejected and denied any desire to partake in certain types of play—activities Ferdinand enjoyed, but could ultimately do without. So he let the issue drop, content without bringing it up or thinking about it, save for craving more after the occasional squeeze or accidental scrape of Hubert's nails.

Until the night Hubert came back smelling like ash and magic and seeming half wild, his stomach clenched so tightly under Ferdinand's hand that sleep would be an impossibility. He'd suggested it offhand, the way someone desperate to think about anything else would broach the subject.

_"You really trust me enough for this?"_

_"Of course,"_ Ferdinand had replied, and still wondered if Hubert heard the surprise in his voice. He'd thought it a matter of preference or intimacy—or perhaps the notion of inflicting pain reminded Hubert too much of his own wicked work. Hubert said, often and mysteriously, that sadists did not last long as interrogators in his corps, and Ferdinand never quite knew what he meant by that.

It somehow never occurred to Ferdinand that the issue was Hubert not trusting himself. That night, he made it his personal mission to begin the process of correcting that by showing Hubert how much he loved all of the things those hands could do. They both slept better afterwards than they had in months, with Hubert draped lightly over Ferdinand's back and pressing his lips to the welts on Ferdinand's shoulder just before they both drifted off.

And so, for the time being, any activities involving pleasure and pain were relegated to hard times, to periods when the strain of his work threatened to tear Hubert apart like a torn banner flapping in a violent storm.

Ferdinand certainly wished that Hubert sought this out at other times, happier times, but for the moment, he found himself glad to be the one who could reach up and pull Hubert back to the ground. He was rarely seen as a calming influence on anyone, least of all himself. The opportunity to turn off, let Hubert come undone over him—to help, if even in some small way—was precious to him.

Ferdinand adjusted his plain muslin shirt and pressed jacket—he'd be wearing just enough to not be seen as a walking scandal in the imperial palace at night, although he was sure the time for high gossip about him and Hubert had already been passed along in favor of fresher news. Lastly, he gathered his hair up with a simple leather tie. He pulled the ends tight, letting his true excess fall out loosely around it. This was their sign.

Ferdinand's lantern illuminated Hubert's door in a kind of melancholy glow. The Minister of Imperial Affairs, classically, had private rooms positioned not far from the Emperor's quarters, and Ferdinand could hear nightbirds singing in the garden, followed by the barking of Byleth and Edelgard's dogs, followed rapidly by a door opening and shutting and the barking becoming muffled.

Ferdinand smiled to himself, before his purpose there returned to him. His throat went oddly dry, and he knocked lightly on Hubert's door.

Before his second knock, the door was flung open, leaving Ferdinand's fist hovering in midair over Hubert von Vestra's dishevelled shirt, which hung half tied and lopsided on his shoulder, exposing the line of his clavicle and collarbone. His hair had been brushed, if lightly, and Ferdinand caught a glimpse of ink stains on the edges of his sleeves.

"Ferdinand," Hubert said, by way of greeting, although his voice sounded distracted, a little unsteady. It was different from either the Hubert that Ferdinand knew before the war, or the Hubert he'd grown very close to afterwards.

"Hubert." Ferdinand hesitated to cross the threshold until Hubert asked him to, making it clear that there was still time to say no, still time to abort the mission and spend a more standard night in each other's company. Ferdinand did raise an eyebrow and say, "Do you...still want to do this tonight?"

Hubert nodded, seeming almost a little frantic. He opened the door a little wider with his elbow as his fingers dug so hard into his scalp Ferdinand could see tendons in his exposed forearm.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Ferdinand asked as Hubert shut the door behind them.

"Not tonight," Hubert said, leading Ferdinand into his sitting room, his eyes burning a hole in the carpet as he did so, rather than meet Ferdinand's gaze like he usually did when they were together.

Already, Ferdinand could tell this was worse than usual. Hubert had been more badly off before, but his demeanor seemed altered enough that Ferdinand considered calling the whole thing off himself.

Not for his own safety—he trusted Hubert implicitly—but just in case it wasn't what Hubert needed. Ferdinand in his other relationships had only thought of leather and lace as, well, mere bedroom fun. A way to keep things interesting. A path to find harmless pain and let it reach back without actually hurting him, yet sparking a light in his bones all the same. With Hubert, it stood that even that was different. Although it seemed to help, Hubert's sheer intensity sometimes left Ferdinand in uncharted waters.

A silver tray sat by the fire. A teapot held heated water and Ferdinand poured himself a splash into the porcelain cup next to it. His little sip yielded honey and lemon.

He mulled the sweetness over his tongue. Welcome, but a little unexpected. Usually, Hubert made a pot of tea, or simply had a pitcher of water sitting nearby. Ferdinand wondered what Hubert had in mind for tonight.

While Ferdinand sipped from his little teacup, Hubert hung back near the hallway, his arms crossed as Ferdinand stripped out of his jacket, and then his shirt. He left them in a heap. Even with the fire going in the hearth, he did feel a little bite of cold air against his bare chest, his skin rising up into gooseflesh. Or maybe it wasn't just the temperature, because as he did so, Hubert finally moved into the sitting room proper, his hands moving mechanically to pristinely fold Ferdinand's clothes and lay them to the side.

Cautiously, Ferdinand approached Hubert, who still made it his mission to look anywhere in the room except at Ferdinand. He placed a hand lightly to Hubert's shoulder, and Hubert in turn finally looked at him. The wild look in his eyes was still there, a little, but Ferdinand saw a deep, steadying hunger there too, in the wide set to Hubert's pupils and the sudden heat in the room.

"Remember, we can stop whenever you want to." Ferdinand gently kissed the corner of Hubert's mouth. "Our word for tonight is 'rosemary'. Is that all right?"

Hubert gave a curt nod, and repeated the word under his breath.

When he looked up, he set his mouth in a flat line as he finally took in Ferdinand's body—his green eyes scanning from the top of Ferdinand's head to the tip of his boots. Appraisal and reverence in equal measure; it sent shivers down Ferdinand's back.

He took Ferdinand's hand in his own, and gave a quick kiss to his knuckles—half signal that the scene would begin, and half apology, however unneeded and unasked for. He searched Ferdinand's face, possibly for a sign that he felt anything less than cherished, and Ferdinand did not offer it.

Hubert's next breath hissed in, and he nearly threw Ferdinand's hand back into his thigh.

"I don't remember telling you to come here tonight." Hubert's voice dropped to a quick snarl, gravelly and noxious.

"You did not," Ferdinand replied. "I...assumed."

"You guessed wrongly." Hubert raised his gloved hand, trailing a line down Ferdinand's cheek, to his throat, to his shoulder, and lower. "Turn around."

"What?" Ferdinand shied away, widening his eyes and backing away slightly.

"I said, turn around."

Ferdinand obliged, and Hubert roughly gathered up his wrists behind him, just hard enough to strain Ferdinand's shoulders—but also give them a little bit of a stretch before he applied the padded cuffs and chain. Ferdinand had resisted the idea, until one night when his hands went numb for longer than expected before twitching in fiery pain as sensation returned. Hubert had nearly called Linhardt in a panic. Ferdinand relented after that, not eager to repeat the experience either.

"Down," Hubert ordered, gracelessly shoving Ferdinand to his knees on the area rug.

Ferdinand crumpled around his knees in pain, keeling forward into the ache, trying not to show Hubert that that one actually did hurt a little too much.

Hubert pressed a hand to Ferdinand's clavicle, the crook of his hand pressing against the base of Ferdinand's throat.

Ferdinand felt his pulse under leather, the heartbeat in his skin hummingbird fast against Hubert's palm.

Removing his hand, Hubert took his seat on the sofa in front of Ferdinand.

When he lifted Ferdinand's chin between thumb and forefinger, his green eyes held sternly down, looming over Ferdinand as Hubert’s mouth set into a deep, disappointed scowl. Hubert moved Ferdinand’s jaw left and right before tossing his face aside, towards the carpet. "It's remarkable to me that you keep coming back. If I didn't know better, I'd say you like this."

Ferdinand tilted his head up, half as a show of pride, and half to let Hubert examine him.

With the tip of one boot, Hubert traced a line from the center of Ferdinand's stomach to the growing bulge under his trousers. When he pushed his toe down, a low keen escaped Ferdinand's throat.

A burst of pain on his cheek blanked Ferdinand's mind. The crack of leather on skin rattled his ears.

His moan broke off into a yelp, and he stared breathlessly at the glove in Hubert's hand.

He'd taken it off so quickly that Ferdinand didn't notice, and the sting on his cheek caught the air in his chest and he gasped. Above him, Hubert waited from his position on the sofa, his arms crossed and tapping the removed glove against his still-covered hand.

Ferdinand broke character just enough to smile.

Hubert slapped him again, and this time the sting was replaced by a deeper pain, smoother, like the second sip of a good tea. Hubert stopped at three, just as Ferdinand's reaction dimmed, even as he started trying to rut up into Hubert's boot.

In a true display of cruelty, Hubert moved his boot and crossed his leg, leaning back in his seat and spreading his arms wide against the cushions of the sofa.

"Well, would you look at that," Hubert pondered as the toe of one shined shoe made little circles in the air. "You do like this. What kind of creature likes being hurt?"

What kind of creature liked to hurt? Others might not have heard it in Hubert's voice, but Ferdinand did, and arched his body into it, to show that he was there, ready, willing, and full of trust. Hubert's.

Hubert leaned forward and grabbed at Ferdinand's hair. "Answer me when I ask you a question."

"I do not like to be hurt," Ferdinand spat back, "I like—"

He was cut off by Hubert pulling on his hair, exposing the length of skin under his jaw. His heart raced and just for a second, his body forgot he was in a scene, and he experienced a heartbeat of primal thrill at the sensation of his hands behind his back and Hubert's mouth hovering so close to a vulnerable spot.

"You look like you enjoy it as much as I do," Ferdinand replied, sinking as far as he could into the hand fisted in his hair, trying to get the ridge of his throat just a little closer to Hubert's lips.

"Yes, well, someone has to teach you some manners," Hubert replied, rising to his feet. "Wait here. Keep your eyes there." He gestured to a spot on the carpet and directed Ferdinand's face towards it with a forceful hand on the back of his neck.

Ferdinand drummed his fingers against the flat of his palms, his eyes instead tracing the path of the red swirls on the rug. As with most of the things in Hubert's rooms, it could have been either an antique or located at random from the local market, for how Hubert treated it. Somehow, after all they'd done, it wasn't that worse for wear.

He spied a cluster of dark spots from a nosebleed. He saw a flat, white spot from the time Hubert poured wax over his stomach. He studied the grain of the weaves and remembered the burn on his back from Hubert fucking him senseless into the coarse fabric, not long after their first time.

To his credit, he really tried not to follow with his eyes, but the gap, the absence, left his body ready to catch fire, and despite himself, he glanced behind him. Hubert had navigated across the room to his hutch, where his few relevant implements were kept.

When Hubert saw him looking, he glared. "It figures that you wouldn't be able to follow a simple instruction and keep your eyes to yourself." He gathered a couple objects Ferdinand couldn't quite see, and Ferdiannd snapped back into position.

"I don't take kindly to interlopers," Hubert ground out from behind Ferdinand just as a length of black velvet was wrapped around his eyes, casting the room into a deep, pitch darkness. He felt a whisper of breath against his ear, and Hubert's lip's hovering near the shell of it, making Ferdinand wish he'd just reach out with his teeth. "You don't want to see what happens to those I catch spying."

Ferdinand's mind filled with fantastical, horrible possibilities that he would never get Hubert to act out in full, but that threat still filled him with horror, dread, and aching in turn.

"I-I would never. You have to believe me," Ferdinand returned, breathlessness and desperation all real. "There must be some way I can prove to you—"

"You can start by shutting up," Hubert snapped, and his hands pressed into the sides of Ferdinand's head, straightening him out so his neck stood tall. "Hold there."

The sound of leather and chains jangling reached Ferdinand's ears, and his body hummed in response the second he smelled fresh oil, the kind used to treat leather. Hubert wrapped something broad around Ferdinand's throat, and tightened it with the necessary straps. Ferdinand instantly identified it as some kind of leather collar, but his excitement piqued through his arousal when he felt the chain running through a second loop on the outside.

"Do you know what this will do?"

Ferdinand nodded, frantically. "I do."

"Tell me."

Ferdinand's throat fluttered against the leather—stiff, he realized, to protect him. "It will squeeze."

From behind him, he heard the sound of the light chain falling through Hubert's fingers, and grinding, twisting as he wrapped it around his fist.

The collar pulled tightly around Ferdinand's throat, stopping just enough for his next breath to come out in a rasp, the sound from his throat pitching to a whistle. Hubert released the chain, and Ferdinand took in a full breath of air, sweet, and swam with the hot coil running through him.

He shivered when he heard the chain jingling again, as it slid free in Hubert's hands. "That's as far as it goes," Hubert said, his voice calmly informative.

The chain slapped against Hubert's gloves, before Ferdinand heard a soft whistle and blowing air, like the blades of a fan.

The chain lashed across his right shoulder blade. Pain erupted over the bone there.

Ferdinand gasped and cried out at that—more from the heft of the impact than the cold feeling of metal striking, and then being drawn, across his back. Ferdinand shuddered in the aftermath, his hands pulling tightly against the cuffs on his wrists.

He realized, then, that Hubert had been twirling it in one hand, waiting for the right moment to deliver the first, unexpected hit.

Hubert waited, possibly for their word—Ferdinand wondered if Hubert wanted him to say it. He took in a heady breath.

Another lash from the chain impacted across the other side of his back, near his ribcage, and he felt it nearly as much in his heart and lungs as he did on his skin. He cried out again, flinching against the blow and leaning into it all at the same time. He leaned forward, and sweat collected under the collar, making the leather cling even more tightly to him.

Ferdinand drank in the waves of hurt—first the deep ache of a hit over bone, followed by the numbing as soft tissue caught up. He knew already that there would be bruising.

Hubert pulled the collar tight, drawing Ferdinand back up so his back was straight again.

"Face your punishment," Hubert snapped. "I won't prop you up like a doll."

"Though I am yours to play with, apparently." This earned Ferdinand another smooth squeeze of the collar. He tried to breathe around it, let it hold him, contain him.

"Yes." Hubert released the chain, and Ferdinand coughed lightly. "So you should learn some manners. Now—hold still."

Ferdinand went stiff just as the third impact of the chain knocked another gasp out of him. This time, he didn't let himself fall forward, and instead shuddered against the collar, against his tether, loving it for keeping him there, helping him know where Hubert was and what he wanted.

He struck Ferdinand with the chain three more times, picking a new spot on Ferdinand's skin every time. Again, stopping just as Ferdinand's jerking response began to dim. He whined, which turned into a whimper, and his blindfold dampened with reflexive tears. "Hubert," he gasped out.

Hubert went very still through the chain.

Before the grip loosened, Ferdinand felt the contact pull slightly down and to the left, as Hubert released all of his slack. The sound of boots on carpet moved around to Ferdinand's front.

"Hubert, please. I am—"

"About to make a mess," Hubert said, half sounding disgusted, and half sounding like he was going to spend himself.

From his space on the floor, Ferdinand shuddered when he heard the sound of Hubert unbuttoning, the soft rustle of fabric and flesh that meant his cock was out, and a whole new wave of vibration flooded through him, picked him up and carried him. Hubert stopped just before Ferdinand could actually taste him, the radiating heat and musk was enough to make Ferdinand lick his lips.

"Suck me off," Hubert commanded. "Then, maybe, we'll see to you."

Ferdinand opened his mouth and took Hubert in as a hand wrapped carefully around the back of his head. He tasted salt and earth, lightly ran his tongue and teeth around every familiar ridge and vein as Hubert—softly—thrust into his mouth, and Ferdinand tried to take him deeper. Overhead, he heard Hubert's soft grunts as Ferdinand sucked, removed his mouth, blew lightly on where he guessed Hubert's spit-soaked member was before taking that heat into him again.

When Hubert came, he made a sound halfway between a moan and a growl, and his hand tightened violently on the back of Ferdinand's head, holding him over his cock as Ferdinand swallowed the result.

When he finally pulled away, Ferdinand panted heavily, his chest rising into and falling away from the collar around his neck, which now had sweat cooling around the edges.

"Hubert," he said, breathlessly, ready to fly, ready to fall.

Hubert knelt in front of him. Ferdinand once again heard the distinctive sound of Hubert wrapping the chain around his fist, and pulling the chain half-taught as he made quick work of Ferdinand's buttons, pulling his cock free. Ferdinand cried at the sensation of cold air on him, around the sensation of the collar at this throat pulling tighter and tighter.

His spine arched backwards with Hubert's hand as his other wrapped around Ferdinand's cock, alternating between grasping, stroking, and sliding his thumb over the tip. Ferdinand wailed, his chest burning and eyes sparkling in bright starbursts against the blindfold as Hubert settled into a solid pace for stroking him, being sure to lighten his grip on the chain occasionally so Ferdinand could regain some lost air, although he was never fully cut off. He swam, dizzyingly and in the dark, as he thrust his hips in time to the motion of Hubert's oiled hand.

A hot, painful wave washed over him as he finally came into Hubert's palm. The grip on his chain tightened, and for a moment, he and Hubert remained leaning on each other. Hubert pressing into him, holding the chain behind Ferdinand as his throat ached, and Ferdinand arching up into Hubert's body.

He fell forward and pressed into Hubert's shoulder, panting and coughing into Hubert's hair. He smelled, as always, like a lamplighter or a mortician. A kind of chemical cling that Ferdiand had grown quite fond of.

As Ferdinand let himself be held, Hubert turned into his ear, lightly kissing the shell of it. "Are you all right?"

Ferdinand grinned against him. "I am better than all right."

"Spectacular, as always." Hubert clung to him, the tension gone from his body and voice. "You should have seen the look on your face."

Carefully, Hubert removed the collar first, and Ferdinand felt him run his fingers along where the edge had been, and along the structure of Ferdinand's throat just to make sure no actual damage had been done. The blindfold came off, and the gentle glow from the fire now almost burned his eyes with brightness. Last came the cuffs, and by now Ferdinand was practically mush, leaning against Hubert.

Sloppily, as Hubert lightly kissed the red rims of his wrists, Ferdinand drew him into a kiss. "You are truly remarkable as a fiend, my love."

"Do they still hurt?" Hubert ran his hands down Ferdinand's back in long strokes. Where earlier his hands had been twitchy and nervous, now they moved smoothly, indulgently taking in the results of his handiwork on Ferdinand's body.

Ferdinand nodded. "A little. Did the chain break the skin anywhere?"

"No," Hubert responded. "It was a dull instrument, but you'll have some bruises."

"Perfect." Ferdinand closed his eyes against Hubert's shoulder, as the post-sex tiredness too emotional to be true exhaustion fell over him in a feeling he wanted to disappear into, be subsumed by.

After a brief protest, Hubert led him, still wobbly, to the bed, and wrapped Ferdinand in his blankets as he went to fetch the warm water, activating the magic stone sitting underneath the pot.

He helped Ferdinand sit up, take in some of the water and let it settle, the honey soothing his scratchy throat, before laying him back down. With steady hands, he sat behind Ferdinand and applied a strange-smelling salve to each place where the chain lashed him.

Ferdinand breathed in and out sleepily.

"I almost like this more," Hubert said, softly.

"You have to have a before to get to the after care." Ferdinand raised an eyebrow. "But I love it all."

He caught the smile Hubert tried to hide, and drifted off to sleep with the sensation of Hubert kissing the corner of his jaw.


End file.
